While I was in Wisconsin this weekend, things were inching ever closer toward some semblance of spring. It was still grey, and damp, and chilly. The trees were still bare.
But the cord of wood outside my parents house had dwindled to nearly nothing, so in a spontaneous ritual that felt both grand and ancient, my dad decided to burn what was left — all in one fell swoop — putting an end to winter.
The fire blazed for awhile, and the house got so hot we had to open the doors. But the wood is gone, the tarp is put away, the buds are pushing up through the warming soil. Spring always, eventually, arrives.
Haiku 21
April 21, 2025
And it’s nearly May –
All winter’s wood burned to ash
Daffodils burn bright